Boxing Day
by ceeebee
Summary: Many poorly paid workers were required to work on Christmas day and took the following day off to visit their families. As they prepared to leave, their employers would present them with Christmas boxes.


****Title: ****Boxing Day**  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>**Merlin/Arthur**  
><strong>Rating:<strong>** G**  
><strong>Summary: <strong>**Many poorly paid workers were required to work on Christmas day and took the following day off to visit their families. As they prepared to leave, their employers would present them with Christmas boxes.

I wrote this fic for Wendy, who I met at the Merthur party, on tumblr.

It is also for anyone else who is experiencing post-Christmas-depression, and is in need of some fluff.

But, whoever reads this, I hope you enjoy :')

Oh, and it's unbetaed, so please forgive any mistakes :s

* * *

><p><strong>Boxing Day<strong>

Merlin rubbed his eyes, running long fingers through his dark hair, yet again. Christmas day was finally ending, and he was _exhausted_. He had been up since the crack of dawn; sitting up in his tiny little bedroom, to be hit by a cold so intense that his teeth had started chattering instantly. After that, he'd ran to Arthur's chambers, pulling on his jacket as he went, and _still _managing to be late.

All day he had attended to the Prince, and it had been miserable. Merlin had never spent Christmas away from home (more importantly, away from his mother and Will), and Christmas in Camelot was a poor substitute.

It wasn't that the decorations weren't stunning, or the festivities weren't fantastic, it was just that no servant was expected to join in. They stood, lining the hall, waiting on their various masters, while they ate and drank. And it really was _freezing_.

Arthur beckoned Merlin closer, barely looking at his manservant as he topped up his goblet, before shooing him away again, and turning to Morgana.

"So," she was saying, after smiling a thanks up at Merlin, who had beamed back, seemingly very grateful for some sign of recognition before moving off again, "what did you get him?" Arthur frowned,  
>"Get who?"<br>"Merlin, you idiot! For boxing day, what have you got him?" Arthur only gaped, "oh my god, you forgot, didn't you?"  
>"I didn't <em>know<em>," Arthur huffed, "and he hasn't got _me _any-" Morgana kicked him, hard, under the table and Arthur gasped.  
>"He. Has. Been. Serving. You. All. Day. You. Arrogant. Arse." She hissed, punctuating each word with a kick, or pinch.<br>"Get off me you witch," he gasped, batting her hands away, "Gods, I'll sort something out, all right?"  
>"Well," she said, and the contempt in her voice was clear, although when she glanced at Merlin, it softened slightly, "perhaps you can start by sending him to bed. He's dead on his feet, Arthur."<p>

And now Arthur allowed himself to look at Merlin properly, and he might have felt the teeniest bit guilty, seeing the way his eyelids were drooping, and how the jug of wine was slipping precariously in his slack grip.  
>"Oh Gods, he's going to fall over," Arthur sighed, before standing up. Morgana watched curiously as the Prince moved around the table to join his manservant.<p>

"Merlin?" Arthur peered at Merlin's face, which seemed even paler than usual, and he had dark shadows beneath his eyes.  
>"Yes?" the manservant stifled a yawn as he met Arthur's gaze. Arthur rolled his eyes,<br>"Go to my chambers and lay out my night things. Then go to bed before you drop that wine, dammit." And he turned on his heels, walking straight back to the table.

Merlin stared after him, for a moment, before hissing "prat," under his breath, and then dragging his feet from the hall, no longer trying to hide his tiredness as he fumbled up staircase after staircase, heading for Arthur's chambers.

Once he got there everything was a bit hazy, and he knuckled his eyes in a desperate attempt to keep them open. Stumbling to the wardrobe, he pulled out Arthur's sleeping pants, and then practically threw them on the bed. Outside, the bells chimed eleven and Merlin groaned. It wasn't even that late, but he missed Ealdor more than he would have thought possible, and he missed his mother. He missed the love and the food and the gifts and the attention. In Camelot, there was a Christmas lunch for the servants, but he had missed it, because Arthur had said he needed him to press his jacket in time for the celebrations.

Then, when Merlin had tried to make a dash for it, Arthur had summoned him again, and told him not to leave his side, because the guests coming round during the day were awfully dull, and Merlin might make it the smallest bit more bearable.

So, because Merlin liked to be needed by his Prince, however prattish that Prince might be, he had stayed. Gwen had frowned at him questioningly, when she hurried past, heading for the kitchens after already having been dismissed by Morgana, but he'd just shaken his head glumly in reply.

Now, he just couldn't be asked to do anything more. Not even return to his bedroom (which would be cold and uncomfortable anyway). He tottered to Arthur's bed, and looked down at it, wonderingly. He would only stop for a quick nap, and then he'd go back to the physician's quarters. He just needed to recuperate some energy before moving again, that was all.

So, he fell face first onto the four-poster, and was snoring before his limps had fully settled over the covers.

* * *

><p>Arthur left the feast at about ten minutes to midnight. After bidding Morgana and Uther goodnight, he headed straight for his chambers, his <em>slightly <em>drunkard mind on his wayward manservant. Once at his chambers, he waltz inside, tripping a little and then going over to the bed... which was already occupied.

Merlin.

He was sleeping in the opposite position Arthur usually slept in, as in he was curled up into a tight little ball, rather than spread eagled over the whole bed. His knees were practically tucked under his chin, and his arms were hanging loosely around his legs, whilst he snored, softly.

Arthur hesitated, wondering what to do. His mind was slightly clearer, now he was out of the heat of the main hall, and it hit him hard that _Merlin was in his bed_.

Oh

_Oh._

He paused, seriously considering dragging the beautiful, annoying little waif out of the room, and tossing him into the corridor, but he _did _look rather nice: all smooth and pale, his curled body presenting angles Arthur hadn't known existed, but which he liked. Very much.

After standing there for a second, staring, Arthur shrugged, stripped, and clambered into bed. It took a little longer to arrange himself around Merlin, and longer still when he decided just to drag the boy up beside him, pulling the covers over them both.

"Gods, Merlin, you're freezing," he gasped, holding Merlin close, and tucking the boy's head under his chin.

The older man wasn't quite sure what he was doing, or even why he was doing it, but he _had _noticed Merlin's misery today, even if he'd acted otherwise. Really, Arthur noticed a lot of things about Merlin, and it was easy to tell when he was upset. To spot the lack of huge, goofy grin, and the gain of slumped shoulders and downcast eyes.

Arthur didn't like it when Merlin was sad... sure, it was fun when Merlin was _annoyed_, but not sad. Not on Christmas day. So he didn't send Merlin away, because he actually really didn't want to. Instead he warmed him up, his naked chest pressed against the slighter man's clothed back, his breathing hot and heavy against his hair.

When Merlin woke up the next day, he would be in shock; he would scramble away from the prince, spluttering his apologies, but then Arthur would pull him back to the bed.

Arthur who had, after one night, become too accustomed to the sound of Merlin's breathing. Too attached to the way it felt, having another person this close. Another person whose skin shone in delicate moonlight, and then glowed in soft morning sun.

"I didn't buy you anything, for boxing day," he'd say, eyes wide, and perhaps a little apologetic.  
>"Oh... that's... that's okay, I wasn't expecting-" Merlin would begin, but Arthur would see the tiny sharp edge of disappointment in his eyes.<p>

And then, he'd kiss this ridiculous, useless, wonderful boy, and he'd taste of all the food he didn't get a chance to eat, and his movements would be gentle and groggy from all the sleep he didn't have time to get.

It would be perfect, until they parted, with Merlin's lips left slack and open.  
>"Merry Christmas," the Prince would say, before pressing a final, light kiss, to Merlin's forehead, and sending him off home, empty handed but heart full of possibilities.<p>

Yes, that was what would happen. Arthur was determined of it, as the clocks chimed midnight, and Christmas day drew to a close.


End file.
